


When In Brussels

by nowstfucallicles



Category: Agatha Christie's Poirot (TV), Poirot - Agatha Christie, Poirot - All Media Types
Genre: Brussels, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, Friendship/Love, Kissing, M/M, Missing Scene, POV First Person, POV Japp, The Chocolate Box
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-12
Updated: 2020-03-12
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:33:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23121787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nowstfucallicles/pseuds/nowstfucallicles
Summary: It’s in Brussels that Japp finds his admiration for Poirot is returned – in more ways than one.Missing scene for the episode The Chocolate Box.
Relationships: James Japp & Hercule Poirot, James Japp/Hercule Poirot
Comments: 12
Kudos: 38





	When In Brussels

We stepped out on Poirot’s floor. We were in fairly high spirits, just now returning from the nearby _brasserie_. I saw the lift boy give us a bit of a look, though I reckoned I couldn’t blame him. Two posh-looking blokes, heading back to a hotel room in the middle of the night… Lord knows, he’d have wondered what kind of _chaps_ we were. 

He’d taken a suite, Poirot. A proper one, with enough room for a whole family, in-laws and all. He went to tend to the drinks while I strolled over to the window. The curtains were open, and I put down my small case and looked out for a bit. Not a bad place to be, Brussels. Impressive, really, for a city of the continent. 

“Another whisky, Chief Inspector?“ 

Poirot was rummaging through the drinks cabinet in the back, stocked with all kinds of fine spirits and wines. I nodded to him, wondering about the odds of there being a halfway decent whisky. A few minutes later he returned, with a glass of nice golden malt.

“Not bad, Poirot…“

“The best one they have,” he said, smiling. “Fitting for our last night in this fair city.“

He raised his glass, small, with a splash of bright red, and I raised mine. We’d had a few already, down at the _brasserie_. A bit of celebrations, as he’d put it, in light of my freshly-awarded title. We’d had a right good time. Talking old times and old cases, two veterans of the profession, up until they’d started putting up the chairs.

“Back to London it is,” I said.

“Ah, and a bit too soon, I think.” Poirot was regarding me, his head tilted. “It has been quite the success, has it not, our visit here?”

“You could probably say that.”

“The Chief Inspector Japp,” he smiled again. “Now, one of the most honourable _Compagnons de la Branche d’Or_.”

“Well…” 

He held up his index finger. “As the first Scotland Yard man, no less.”

“Better keep that to myself. They’ll say I’m getting too big for my boots.” 

“Your English modesty, _mon ami_ , it will surely prevent such a thing.” 

Wasn’t something he’d ever suffer from, I thought, modesty. Then I remembered the Déroulard case. One of those he’d be telling me about, from back in the day. He’d swallowed his pride back then, and quite remarkably so. He’d only been a young copper, but had it not been for his conscience, he might have won himself some early laurels there.

He was leaning forward, taking a whiff of the red stuff in his glass. How he could enjoy the blasted concoction, I hadn’t the faintest idea. He took a sip and then turned back to me, as if suddenly remembering something.

“Your ceremonial sash,” he said, “I think you had it with you?“ 

“The band?” It took me somewhat by surprise, though I hadn’t forgotten about the thing. “Over there.”

I’d been carrying it around since the ceremony, in that small, lacquered case they’d given me. Thankful it had a case, otherwise I might have found myself wearing a sizeable gold-lettered band for the rest of the day. As grateful as I was, there’s only so much pomp and circumstance a man can take.

Poirot walked over to the table where I’d left it. One of his little ideas, I thought as I watched him pick up the case. He came back and carefully opened the thing. 

“Beautiful, is it not?” he said.

I looked at it for a bit. “Yes. Very nice.”

“Splendid. The craftsmanship, of the rarest kind…”

He took out his handkerchief and wiped a piece of lint off the lettering. He was looking quite pleased. Just as he had before, at the ceremony. Chuffed. 

“It seems to me that you should be wearing it,” he said.

He lifted the band and unfolded it. It shimmered black and golden as he held it up to me.

“Don‘t know about that,” I said.

“Ah, the modesty again. You would rather that I put it back into its box, and we pretend not to take notice of it. _Non_...”

He brushed a hand along my revers, straightening it, and held the band to my chest.

“In the old times, _mon_ Chief Inspector, prizes such as this were given to victorious commanders. As a symbol of their triumph and bravery. Truly, it is the sign of heroes.”

I looked at him, wondering if he was pulling my leg, and he added with that smile of his: “Here… let us remedy this.”

He raised the thing and before I could utter a word, draped it around my neck. He smoothed the band down along my collar, slowly, carefully. 

“Much better,” he said. 

He produced his small mirror and I took a look at myself. In my Sunday best. Red-faced, wearing the greatest honour this country could bestow. 

“Heroes…” I glanced back at Poirot. “You’re laying it on a little thick.”

“On the contrary,” he said. “It is the name you are deserving of. Indeed… more than deserving.” 

He was serious. He was looking at me, and his eyes were now a bright green. And I noticed it again, his strange excitement. At the ceremony, he’d been introducing me to his people – high brass, all of them – in the same manner. The way he’d been going about it, you’d have thought I were London’s finest detective. One of a kind. A veritable Sherlock Holmes…

“What about you then?” I handed back the mirror. “I reckon you’ll be up for one of these yourself, any day now?”

“I shall never become a _Compagnon_ ,” he said quietly, and his face fell somewhat. “You know it now, the reason for that.”

“You don’t mean – the Déroulard case?”

“ _Naturellement_. I have made myself enemies in the highest circles. You saw _Le Comte_ de Saint Alard... he will never forgive me.”

“I saw him alright.“ There were less polite things I might’ve said. “How does he get to have a bloody say in it?”

“His word holds a lot of weight in this country… and rightfully so.“ He shook his head. “ _Enfin_ , it is nothing. A small sting, nothing more.”

For a moment. Just a moment there, I thought I’d take the thing off. I thought I’d give it to him, and damn near did, too. If I deserved these honours, then so did he. The Belgians, they’d gotten it the wrong way round...

“Bloody state of affairs,” I said. “Granted, I’m not one of your fine gentlemen. But I can’t think of anyone who’d make a better _Compagnon_ than you.”

“ _Mon ami_.” Poirot’s glance darted up and searched my face. “It is very kind of you.”

“I mean it.”

“I can see.” He put his hands on my shoulders, touching the band. “I can see that you do.” 

He moved his hands slowly downward. With bright green eyes and a strange, warm expression, following the band, inch by inch.

“There are the cases,” he said, “that leave a detective changed. In the beginning, it is not obvious. One hurries from one little clue to another, and only when the solution is complete, and the mystery is dispensed with… only then, one realises.”

Was it still about the Déroulards? Slowly his hands were moving back up. He smoothed down my collar on both sides and flattened a crease in my shirt. His hand then stayed there, against my chest, as if to ensure everything stayed in order. 

Suddenly, I thought of the midday train we were going to take tomorrow. I thought of my home that didn’t seem very far away right now, and felt I wasn’t in much of a hurry to get back. I thought, I’d fancy a couple more days. Here. Like this. 

I downed the rest of my whisky. His thumb was stroking ever so slightly over the band, and I was looking at him. I’d had one too many, that much was certain.

He deserved the bloody thing. He deserved it, for every case I’d had him on for. Every case he’d ever solved, because no one else could have solved it like him. I’d never seen anyone do the sort of things he could do. Impossible things. Brilliant things…

I reached for the band and found his hand still lying against my chest. I took it. His hand, into mine.

I couldn’t give him the bloody thing, could I? Not how these things were done. But I’d tell them, the very next time… I’d never met a greater detective. In all my years, I’d never met a greater mind. Not one who could have held a candle to him.

I pressed his hand and held it in mine. His eyes grew wide for a second, and then narrowed again. They were the brightest green, and his lips moved as if whispering something. But then he began to turn away. It was a strange thing… I’d wanted him to stay, just as he’d been. Right there, for a bit. 

He stepped over to the window and closed the curtains. Closed all the curtains, one by one. Slowly, with care. I reckoned this was his way of calling it a night, and I probably ought to do the same. I took off the band and folded it up. Been a little too forward, hadn’t I?

He locked the door. Locked the bloody door, and then turned back to me. I stopped short. Stood there, baffled, as he came back and placed his hand on my chest. Not a word, not from me, not from him.

He was touching my shirt. Not the way he had been before. His hand lingered there, and his fingers curled against me. I kept staring at him, knowing something had happened, but for the life of me, I didn’t know what.

“Have I perhaps… misunderstood you?” he asked. Something flashed across his face, if I hadn’t known better, I’d have said fear. His hand moved, letting go of me, but I had caught it in time.

“No.”

I pressed his hand to my chest. Not as I had before, but hotly, and I knew what I’d said. I knew it. My stomach moved, but not from the malt. 

I leant closer and caught his gaze. The greenest of greens. He’d been cautious, not just with the door and the curtains, so damn cautious that I might have never known. But there was his hand now. His caress. Along my chest, then warmer, under my jacket.

My mouth watered and my stomach moved again. I wondered what he’d taste like, if he’d be sweet from the stuff he’d been drinking. He lifted his head. Just a small motion, and I rushed forward. As if I’d been a young lad again, hot-faced, ashamed. Brazen. I kissed him. 

I couldn’t have imagined it. The press of his mouth, barely opened, less sweet than I’d thought it would be. I touched his neck, where the collar was cutting in, and I could smell starch and perfume, his perfume. I kissed him, deeply. Thoroughly. Not the way he’d be used to. Not the way one would think to kiss him. My eyes were screwed shut and I heard him make a sound. A gasp as he kissed me in return, just as deeply.

His pomade had the taste of medicine. He was both sweet and bitter, and his arms went up around my shoulders as I drew him close. My admiration for him had been unwavering, always. But never of any tenderness. I hadn’t longed for him. Never before, like this. 

He tilted his head and sighed against my cheek. His embrace stopped, but only slowly, and then we stood together, just stood, for a bit. I caught my breath and my hands hung empty by my side. Should I have been embarrassed? Left? He looked at me, and his eyes were less green now, darker. They were the farthest from shame. 

He reached up and brushed his thumb over my moustache. His own looked beyond saving, but with a few careful touches he straightened mine, just as he pushed the hair back from my forehead. A bit more, and I’d look presentable again. A bit more, and it’d be over. I’d go back to my own room, and tomorrow there’d be the midday train. I leant down, and he met me with a brief kiss.

I’d call on him, I thought, once we were back in England. As soon as I could.

He went to open the door and I followed him. I had my lacquered case in hand. Couldn’t help but think somewhat less of it, now that I knew why he’d not been given this honour… As if he’d guessed my thought, he tapped the case with his finger.

“I am more than grateful to the _Compagnons_ ,” he said with a smile. “ _Certainement_ , I shall be indebted to them, from this day on… for reasons of the most selfish kind.”

It took me a bit, then I smiled. “Alright...”

I stepped outside. As quietly as I could, into the empty hallway. I put the case under my arm, and though I’d rather have turned my steps around, I continued towards my room. It was the middle of the night, not a soul about. I knew better than to ring for the lift this time, and instead took the stairs.


End file.
